She brushes off her hands. More hairs flutter to the floor. “Your job seems super stressful, Doc.”
Herlifeseems super stressful, but I don’t point that out. No, I’ve turned to stone, sitting rigid in my desk chair as Poppy slides closer along the desk. She hops up to sit right beside my elbow, the wood creaking beneath her weight.
When she kicks her feet, her flip flops catch on my chair. The dark mane of her hair tumbles forward, wafting me the floral scent of her shampoo.
Jesus.
“So tell me: what do you do to relax, Dr Whitaker?”
Fucking hell. That husky voice. I glare at the plastic model of a brain sitting on my in-tray and will my body not to respond to her words. “I go running.”
“In this heat?”
Does Poppy know what she’s doing to me by sitting this close? By asking me these things? Is she torturing me on purpose? She doesn’t strike me as a sadist.
“I run at night, usually.”
That was true before I met Poppy, anyway. These days, I drag myself out of bed and hit the trails before dawn too, already climbing out of my skin with restlessness after a full night of sweat-soaked dreams. My cottage is half a mile along the coast from Honey Cove, and itstillfeels too close. Like I might wake up and find myself thumping on her villa door after sleepwalking all the way along the cliff side.
Poppy sucks her teeth. “I don’t know. That sounds more like punishment than relaxation. You should try—”
“Vengeance?”
I’m being an ass but she brightens. Tosses her head back and gives a throaty laugh. “Yeah! Why not? It makes me feel better.”
Does it? Because over the last week, Poppy has come to my office every night to reach out to reporters, trying to set up a meeting to expose her father. It should be irresistible: a governor’s daughter, locked away for ‘willful behavior’ like it’s the fifties. All Poppy did was book a trip.
But it’s proving a challenge. Most think she’s pranking them; others are too afraid of Governor Lennox to pursue the lead. Is that really relaxing for her?
She reads this all in my face and shrugs. “Well, my father paid for me to stay here for months, right? So I’ve got time to figure this out. I’ve got time.”
The last few words she says to herself, turning to frown at the wall. And I hate the way her shoulders are caving in, hate the doubt settling over her like a fine mist, so I override my better judgment and place a hand on her knee.
God, Poppy’s skin is so warm. So silky. I trace my thumb along the edge of her kneecap, and she inhales sharply and smirks down at me. “Oh,doctor.”
…Shit.
I snatch my hand back, cheeks on fire.
What the hell am I doing? This is my office. I’m at work.And Poppy may not be my patient anymore, but shewas.I have privileged information about her—a duty of care—
“Forgive me.” Pens clatter over my desk as I shove to my feet, rocking the table. My chair rolls away behind me and bounces off the wall. “I shouldn’t have done that. I need to leave—right now. We both do.”
Poppy stares at me, her mouth curving down with dismay. As I stride toward the door, her hand settles over her bare knee, mimicking the touch I shouldn’t have offered.
Soft skin. The faint thrum of life beneath.
Poppy is always so alive.
My grip on the door handle is harsh, and my knuckles ache. I hold the door open wide, hating every second of this. Fuck, why did I touch her? I’ve ruined everything. “You need to leave too, Poppy. You can’t stay in my office alone. There are patient records in here.”
My words finally sink in and she slips down off the desk, her movements clumsy. When she ducks past me through the doorway, she doesn’t say a word, and not a single dark hair brushes against me. We haven’t kept that kind of distance for days.
“I’m sorry,” I call as Poppy Lennox hurries away down the darkened corridor, her wild hair dancing against her shoulders.
She doesn’t look back. I don’t blame her.